Hit Me With Your Best Shot
by sendintheclowns
Summary: A much deserved night out bonding doesn’t end the way the Winchester brothers planned. Set after WIAWSNB.
1. Chapter 1

Hit Me With Your Best Shot

Summary: A much deserved night out bonding doesn't end the way the Winchester brothers planned. Set after WIAWSNB.

A/N: I believe I started writing this fic before WIAWSNB aired in May of 2007 but once I saw the ep, I wanted to include some of its themes in this story. I never planned on posting this fic – it was just something to amuse Faye Dartmouth – but she thought others might enjoy it so here it is…

Part 1 of 2

Dean's eyes scanned the blue horizon. The Impala was gobbling up the miles, and the gas, as they made their way across the states.

Usually Dean could immerse himself in the music and the landscape. This time was different. His mind kept circling back to their last hunt. He'd not only royally screwed up by checking out the possible den of their quarry but what he'd seen in the djinn's dream world had a cut a little too close for comfort.

_I guess we just don't have anything in common, you know? _The djinn's dream Sam had said those words to Dean and the pain had been instantaneous.

He and Sam had lots in common. Well, okay, maybe not a lot.

Hobbies. Sam preferred reading and learning while Dean was a man of action.

Lifestyle. Sam longed for stability and normalcy whereas Dean got antsy if he stayed in the same place for too long.

Chicks. Sam's ultimate woman was a tall, leggy blond and Dean gravitated toward busty brunettes. Busty redheads weren't bad either, and hell, a busty blonde certainly did the trick as well.

Weapons. Sam would rather use his bowie knife while Dean's choice of weapon was a rifle – a model 70, 7mm magnum _Winchester_ rifle, naturally.

And there was a segue if ever there was one. Hunting. Of course they had a lifetime of hunting in common with shared memories and experiences.

Yet Dean knew the bond went deeper than that. It was, and had always been, his job to look after his baby brother. And Sammy was so worth it. It scared Dean to think about how much he relied on Sam.

Dean had almost caved in to the persistent depression that had plagued him since John Winchester had died after cutting a deal to spare Dean's life. The run in with the djinn had almost sent him over the edge.

_We've lost so much...we've sacrificed so much._ For a short time, Dean had doubted the sense in fighting out of his dream world, had doubted himself. Even doubted their job. No one ever thanked them for a job well done. Hell, most of the time no one knew they'd done anything.

But Sam had made him see sense. It was a hard life. Sam's words echoed in his head -- _but it's worth it._

And that had been some sort of turning point for Dean. He'd found some measure of peace.

This was the life Dean had missed when Sam left for Stanford. He and Sam had always had a special bond, a way of communicating without words, which made hunting together a delight. As close as Dean had been to John Winchester, as much as he had learned from him, it was he and Sam who made a great team.

Dean was still grieving the loss of his father. At first he'd taken his loss out on his brother, pushed him away, said things to hurt him. But once Sam had stopped trying to coax Dean's feelings out of him, he had started to face how much he'd missed his brother.

And he found himself resenting John Winchester for chasing Sam out of his life six years ago. He'd always thought Sam had "daddy issues" but apparently he had some to work out as well.

But he and Sam were a solid team again.

A lifetime of code words and phrases and gestures had coalesced into perfect hunting harmony. If Dean said drop, Sam didn't argue and fell to the floor, so that Dean had a clear shot. If Sam held up his hand, Dean knew his brother was working through a problem and if he just gave him a moment, he'd come up with the perfect solution to the situation du jour.

It was the perfect partnership.

Dean glanced over at the object of his thoughts. Sam's head was angled uncomfortably against the passenger window and occasional sighs puffed from between his parted lips. Dean was tempted to slide something into Sam's mouth just to see him jump, like he'd done with that plastic spoon before snapping a picture, but didn't give in to the urge. It seemed heartless to bother Sam while he was at his most vulnerable. Besides, he had to save the good stuff for the boring stretches of road.

A vulnerable Sam was always hard for Dean to handle. It reminded him of how difficult it was to protect his kind-hearted, hard-headed brother. He would never allow anything bad to happen to Sam again. Ever.

Noticing a sign for a motel, Dean steered the Impala to the exit and got off the highway. Sam had been looking tired lately and could probably do with both a decent meal and a soft bed. And maybe some fun.

-0-

The first thing Sam noticed was the complete silence. The motion of the car had stopped and it was quiet. Even the radio was off. Something was wrong. Dean always had music playing when he was in the car. Sam cautiously cracked his eyes open, uncertain of what to expect.

The sun was setting and glorious streaks of orange and red were flooding across the sky. Sam turned his head and found Dean sitting in the driver's seat, watching him. The expression on Dean's face -- mouth turned down in a frown, wrinkles between his eyes – was so serious it freaked Sam out.

Not wanting to spoil the calm, Sam settled for quirking an eyebrow and cocking his head to the side in question.

Sam had always been a talker. When he had a problem, he liked to talk it out. If someone else was having a problem, he wanted to help them figure it out so he invited them to tell him about it. He had a gift for both words and for listening and enjoyed using both.

Spending time with Dean again, he had to reevaluate his communication skills and make some changes. Dean didn't like all of the talking. In fact, the more Sam pushed Dean, the more his brother clammed up on him. Sam discovered the best way to get Dean to open up was to shut up. It went against his grain, but after a few years of practice he felt like he was getting the drift of it.

The other big concession was that Dean wanted to call the shots, be in control. Sam had left his father's directives behind when he went to Stanford but now found himself in a silent battle of wills with his older brother. But Dean had been through so much with losing their dad and blaming himself – Sam would willingly give up some of the control if it brought some peace into his brother's life. Dean was worth it.

When Dean didn't respond to his silent question, Sam craned his neck around. They were parked in front of the Whispering Hills motel. They appeared to be stopping for the night, which was odd since there were several more hours they could have spent on the road.

Sam gladly would have taken a turn behind the wheel but somewhere along the way a decision had been made and Sam didn't drive unless it was absolutely necessary. He wasn't sure if that was a result of his wrecking the Impala in the collision with the semi or if it was due to his sporadic visions.

"We're stopping for the night?" Sam finally asked. If he sat there much longer he would fall asleep again and he'd rather go inside and sleep, preferably on a clean, soft bed. Although, by the mildly dilapidated looks of the outside, it wasn't a sure thing.

"Great deductive abilities…they teach you that at Stanford, college boy?" Dean teased, his face shifting from solemn to playful in the blink of an eye.

"Dude, you need to get a new writer. Your material's getting stale," Sam volleyed back.

Ever since he could remember, he's been the butt of Dean's jokes. Or at least that's how it had seemed when he was younger. He'd always worshipped his brother but sometimes his words cut deeper than the knife he kept under his pillow at night. But after spending time away from his brother, the barbs no longer drew blood and he appreciated Dean's quick wit. He was no longer over- sensitive to the remarks and could enjoy them for what they were – light hearted, usually affectionate, banter between two brothers.

Lately Sam had a greater appreciation of his older brother. He'd always been aware of the sacrifices Dean had made on his behalf; Dean had spent his childhood caring for his younger brother instead of being a child. But then Dean had broken the hold the djinn had over him through sheer strength of will. He'd given up his dream, his wish, to return to real life. To return to Sam.

"Can we…"

Sam had been on the verge of saying _talk _but that word had pretty much been stricken from Dean's vocabulary and he swallowed the last word like a bitter pill. Sam shifted his eyes away from Dean's face before he could be accused of being a chick and wanting to force "a moment."

His brother threw open the heavy car door and stretched out into the cooling air. Without missing a beat, Dean picked up the sentence where Sam had trailed off. "…go inside, yeah. I think I hear a pool table calling my name somewhere so we might as well stop for the night."

Quietly gathering up some of their bags, Sam followed Dean toward the registration office.

Musings on his brother or even a nap would have to wait. Dean might be hunting a pool game but Sam had research for a different kind of hunt in mind.

-0-

Sam's legs were stretched out in front of him, loose and gangly, while his back was hunched over the keyboard, his fingers flying. Dean could never figure out how half of Sam's body could look so relaxed while the rest of him was twisted up like a pretzel. His brother, the living dichotomy.

"Francis, you coming up for air any time soon? It's time to feed," Dean said, kicking Sam's outstretched foot with one of his booted feet. Sam barely missed a beat in his typing as he flashed a middle finger at him.

Dean smiled in appreciation. Now that he no longer looked for hidden meanings in Sam's words or gestures, feeling like Sam wanted to ditch him at the slightest provocation, he could enjoy the flippant side of Sam. Or in this case, the flipping side.

Sam snapped the laptop shut with an economy of movement before stretching his arms over head. "Fine. We have to tend to your stomach before we fight evil. It must be in Dean's hierarchy of needs. Let's go," Sam grumbled without heat before standing up and grabbing his jacket.

It tickled Dean when Sam spoke all scholarly to him. Not down to him, but to him. Like Sam knew he'd understand what he was saying. And he did. Or he came close enough to faking it most of the time.

After all of the crap they'd faced this year, it felt good to just hang out. To be brothers.

-0-

Dean had talked Sam into crossing the street and visiting the local tavern, the Tumble Inn, after they finished dinner at the Wagon Wheel.

Sam hadn't been interested in alcohol since his little meltdown with tequila in Connecticut at the Pierpont Inn but Dean had been insistent and he didn't want to ruin his brother's mood. A pint and some pool with Dean sounded good at the moment.

No hunting evil. Nothing supernatural. Just a couple of brothers taking it easy. The normalcy of it all appealed to Sam and he decided to go with the flow.

He blinked his eyes and tried to focus. Maybe he'd been a little too fluid. Dean had hustled a little at the pool table and brought in some much needed cash. A pitcher of beer had appeared at the table in celebration and before long Sam had lost track of how much he had consumed.

Sam knew he was a light weight when it came to alcohol but he wasn't worried. He was with his big brother and he knew Dean wouldn't let him do anything stupid.

Scratch that. Dean would encourage him to do something stupid and laugh at him the whole time but he would make sure nothing bad happened to Sam.

Glancing around the crowded room, Sam spotted Dean flirting with the waitress. He was leaning against the bar, frown lines smoothed out, looking happy and relaxed. Sam caught Dean's eye and smiled.

This wasn't his usual scene but in some strange way Sam found it comforting. He reached out and finished off the mug of beer in front of him, watching his brother in action.

-0-

Dean took the proffered phone number from Missy – _hi, I'm Missy, and I'll get you anything you want this evenin_g – the bartender. What a way to welcome a guy. He thought about taking Missy up on her offer but he was enjoying the time with his brother.

Sam's behavior tonight was surprising. For someone who liked to talk and liked people, Sam had seemed content to kick back and let people seek him out. The only time he'd seen Sam up and about was when he hit the bathroom or plugged the jukebox.

That had been another surprise. Dean had expected Sam to gravitate toward that emo music crap but instead he'd selected classics. At least they were classics in Dean's book. _Helter Skelter, Knockin' on Heaven's Door, She Sells Sanctuary…_the Beatles, Bob Dylan and the Cult. A little something for everyone chased indoors on a cool spring night.

Sam was turning out to be a happy drunk as opposed to the angst driven performance he'd reeled off in Connecticut. This Sam wasn't crying in his beer; his foot was tapping in time to the music as he glanced around the crowded bar in leisurely fashion.

Maybe Dean didn't know his little brother as well as he thought he did. This guy was someone Dean might hang out with even if they weren't brothers. And just imagine how happy he'd be if Sam had tits...he so wasn't finishing that train of thought. Maybe he'd had one too many himself.

Dean saw Sam stifle a yawn and that sealed the deal. He wouldn't be spending time with sweet Missy, at least not tonight. It was time to pack it in for the night.

Catching Sam's eye he motioned toward the door. Sam shrugged in agreement and then hauled himself to his feet before weaving his way through the crowd. Dean met up with him at the door.

Sam wasn't really unsteady on his feet but Dean still caught him by the elbow and maneuvered him out the exit. The air was frigid as the brothers crossed the street and headed toward the Impala.

"Why's it so cold?" Sam gasped, his teeth chattering.

"Well, Einstein, weren't you wearing a coat earlier?" Dean asked, amusement and impatience fighting for dominance across his face.

Sam's face was priceless. "Dude! My coat. I'll be right back," Sam said as he spun on his heel and headed toward the crosswalk.

Pressing the button on the traffic light, Sam bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, waiting for the walk sign. A smile creased Dean's face. Even tipsy, his brother managed to be a law abiding citizen.

The walk sign came on and Sam threw Dean a triumphant smile over his shoulder before striding into the street.

An engine revved and tires squealed as a car roared around the corner.

Dean's mouth opened to shout a warning but the words froze in his throat as he watched the scene playing out in front of him.

Sam lunged to the side, trying desperately to avoid a collision, but the light-colored Jetta dodged in the same direction and in that moment Dean knew heart-stopping fear.

He heard the thud of impact, saw his brother's body lifted and cruelly flung into the air before dropping dully on the road.

The Jetta careened down the street, either oblivious to the damage it had wrought or uncaring.

Dean didn't waste any time. He fairly flew across the street and reached Sam's side in seconds.

Amazing. Sam had landed on his back but was even now struggling to pull himself into a sitting position.

"Easy. That was quite a hit you took, Sam," Dean said, dropping to his knees beside his brother. His hand went to Sam's back to steady him as his brother faltered.

The streetlight was shining directly over them and Dean could see Sam was frowning. His eyes were wide and the pupils dilated. Shock.

Dean could hear people murmuring in the background. Someone called out that an ambulance was on the way and Dean was relieved. Sam had to have sustained some sort of injury from the hit and run. Now he set about finding out what was hurt.

His little brother seemed intent on dragging himself to his feet so Dean reached out and grabbed his right arm. "Would you just settle down for a minute and let me see where you're hurt?"

Dean tried to keep the exasperation out of his voice but he was worried and it bled through when he snapped at his brother.

Despite Dean's words, Sam planted his hands on the rough road and tried heaving himself up off the ground. His left arm buckled and the only thing that kept him from falling face first onto the street was Dean's grip on his other arm.

"Huh," Sam said, looking down at his left arm. He glanced at Dean with an air of bewilderment.

Dean wasn't prepared when Sam's weight pitched back suddenly and he had to scramble to keep them both from crashing to the pavement. He shifted behind Sam so that his brother was partially cradled against his chest and peered around his body to get a look at the arm that had given away.

Sam's flimsy shirt had been torn away and hung in tatters around his left side. Dean gasped. He could see bone poking through the arm in various places, the skin slicked in blood. He'd seen his share of horrific injuries, but even Dean was nauseous at the sight of the gore in front of him. And he'd never had the stomach for seeing his little brother hurt.

Dean gently tilted Sam's head so that his brother wasn't staring at the injured limb anymore.

Sam's muscles bunched in his shoulders, as if preparing to rise again, and Dean exerted pressure on his brother's chest with his right hand, attempting to still him. "Sam, please. Relax. Help is on the way." He could hear the siren in the distance. What was taking so long?

A shiver rippled through Sam's body. Dean heard him sigh before he finally quit struggling and relaxed back into Dean's arms.

"Dean?" Sam said, his voice pitched barely above a whisper.

"Yeah, Sam?" Dean replied, distracted. He was worried about all of the blood but didn't want to put pressure on Sam's arm. He didn't want to cause Sam pain, especially with the ambulance moments away.

Sam angled his head farther back until he was situated more fully in Dean's left arm and was staring at Dean's face. "Why am I so cold?" Sam whispered.

Dean cursed himself. Sam was still without a coat and any idiot knew the first thing you did when someone was going into shock was to keep them warm. Dean couldn't shrug out of his jacket without causing Sam pain and contented himself with gathering Sam closer.

Reaching out, Dean brushed the hair out of Sam's face. His skin was cool and clammy and his eyes stared straight ahead. By now, all resistance had fled Sam's body and he reclined bonelessly in Dean's arms.

It had been one of the best night's Dean had enjoyed in a long time and now this. Why?

-0-

Dean had lost track of the time.

The EMT's had wasted little time in loading Sam up and carting him off to the nearest hospital. Dean had been allowed to ride along and he was grateful for that small mercy. He couldn't contemplate letting Sam out of his sight.

When they had wheeled Sam into the ER, Dean had nearly lost his composure. The staff had blocked him from following and had insisted that he wait until his brother had been evaluated. Pushed into the waiting room, Dean was left to his own devices which included slumping in a hard, plastic chair and wringing his hands. He forced himself to stop. He needed to calm down. Sam needed him.

"Mr. Winters? Your brother is asking for you," the pixie-cute ER nurse announced.

Dean was up and out of the chair before the words had finished leaving her mouth. She was staring at him with flirtatious eyes but for once he couldn't respond.

Sam was hurt.

He was quickly escorted back to the exam room where a Dr. Smith introduced himself. Dean barely glanced at the doctor as his attention zeroed in on Sam.

Sam, who was lying pale and bruised on the exam table.

An IV snaked out from his right arm while his left arm rested grotesquely on some convoluted board. Sam's eyes were open and he was staring right at Dean yet he didn't acknowledge him.

"Mr. Winters? Your brother is in serious condition. He sustained a compound fracture of the humerus," the doctor said, motioning to his upper arm, "as well as comminuted fractures of the radius and ulna bones," once again the doctor paused to point to his lower arm. "However, the largest problem facing him right now is that there's a tear in his brachial artery which supplies the blood to his whole arm. We have to restore the circulation so we're prepping your brother for surgery. Do we have your consent to perform the surgery?"

Dean felt overwhelmed. An innocent night of pool and beer had somehow resulted in Sam being very seriously injured. It could only happen to Sam.

_Sam was a big-eyed, serious five-year-old, who wanted to hang from the tree like the big kids in the neighborhood. He'd jumped from the white picket fence in front of the place they'd been renting, grabbing for a tree limb. He'd missed the branch and landed on his feet but he'd spoiled his picture perfect landing by losing his balance and tipping forward to sprawl on the hard ground. A fractured right wrist had kept the I-told-you-so's to a minimum; the broken arm seemed punishment enough. _

_Or the time Dean had been fourteen and the kid had been about ten and they'd been sight- seeing, one of the few times their dad had consented to pull over and let them walk around a local landmark. Sam's arms had wind-milled frantically as he tried, and failed, to catch his balance on the bridge after a strong gust of wind. He'd lost his fight with gravity and teetered over the edge, plummeting toward the frigid water below. Only Sam had managed to land on the sole rock in that stretch of river, earning himself a king sized concussion._

The doctor cleared his voice, interrupting Dean's walk down memory lane. "Mr. Winters, please. I know this is a lot to take in but if we're going to save your brother's arm, we need to move quickly." He had a deep, mellow voice but it was jangling Dean's nerves.

Surgery? How was he fit enough to consent to surgery on his brother's behalf when he couldn't even keep Sam safe from speeding cars?

Dean was irritated at being rushed into a decision when the doctor's words finally sunk in – _if_ we're going to save your brother's arm.

Acid burned its way up Dean's throat and he had to swallow it back with effort.

"Do what you have to do," Dean grunted, his face screwed up in pain.

Dr. Smith and the perky nurse buzzed around Sam for another moment, injecting something into his IV line, checking his vitals again. Dr. Smith touched Dean's arm gently. "The staff will be back in a few minutes to take Sam to the OR."

Dean pulled up a stool next to Sam's good side and reached out, gently picking up Sam's right hand. "Sammy, can you hear me?" Dean's voice rasped, filled with worry.

Sam's eyes were wide open and slowly blinking. Sam seemed to struggle for a moment, as if contemplating what Dean said, before he finally turned his head and looked at Dean.

"Dean, that you?" Sam asked. His voice was groggy, as if he had been awakened abruptly from a deep sleep.

"Yeah, Sam. I'm right here," Dean said, his voice still pitched barely above a whisper.

Sam's eyes focused on Dean's face with confusion, his forehead wrinkling as he sought answers to his predicament.

"What's going on?" Sam asked, his head swiveling around, taking in the IV and then his injured arm. Anxiety arrived hard on the heels of confusion.

"Sammy. Relax. You hurt your arm but the doctor is going to fix you up," Dean stated, trying to project his big-brother-knows-best persona. He couldn't afford to freak out because Sam needed to remain calm.

Dean followed Sam's gaze and for the first time since entering the room, really looked at Sam's arm. From shoulder to fingers, the arm was obscenely swollen – so swollen that slivers of white gaped between bloody gashes along Sam's arm.

Bone. Dean was staring at the tip of a bone protruding from Sam's upper arm.

Nausea gripped Dean's body. If it was having this kind of effect on him, he couldn't imagine what it was doing to Sam.

Dean carefully reached across Sam's body and gripped his chin, pulling his head back toward Dean. And away from the mangled sight of his arm.

Sam relaxed for a moment, his eyes sliding shut, before they snapped open, darting around. "Dean, are you okay?" Sam asked in a breathy voice. He couldn't keep his eyes open but Dean could see he was on the verge of panic.

Dean continued to hold Sam's hand while reaching out and brushing the hair from his brother's eyes. Sam's hair was way past shaggy. Dean was always teasing him about cutting it off while Sammy was asleep. But Sam's hair was such a part of him. Just like having two arms. _Stop it. Concentrate on keeping Sam calm._

"I'm fine, Sammy. Just fine. Now close your eyes and when you wake up I'll be waiting for you," Dean finally answered. His voice cracked with stress but Sam didn't seem to notice. His eyes were closing and the hand Dean was holding became lax.

Dean closed his eyes as he continued to cling to Sam's hand. His brother was completely vulnerable and depending on Dean to take care of him.

"Mr. Winters? It's time," a voice announced from the doorway. Someone took Dean's elbow and helped him up, intent on escorting him out of the room.

Dean dug in his heels and turned back to Sam. Leaning down, he whispered in his brother's ear, "I'll take care of you Sam. I promise," before lightly kissing Sam's cool forehead.

This time he allowed himself to be shown out of the room and found himself in a different waiting room. He slumped down on the couch, marginally more comfortable than the plastic chairs in the ER waiting room, and settled back. He hated waiting. Almost as much as he hated seeing Sammy in pain.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Hit Me With Your Best Shot

Summary: A much deserved night out bonding doesn't end the way the Winchester brothers planned. Set after WIAWSNB.

Part 2 of 2

Dean didn't know anything about restoring circulation and comminuted fractures but he did know that six hours was a long time to have someone under general anesthesia.

He paced and he'd pouted and he'd demanded but none of the staff seemed to know what was going on. Dean was on the verge of breaking into the surgical suite when a weary woman in scrubs made her way over to him.

"Mr. Winters? I'm Dr. Blue. I apologize for the wait but the surgery was complicated and we didn't want to rush. We were able to restore the circulation as well as clean up the fractures and insert some rods and pins to stabilize the bones. We can go into that in further detail at a later time. I suspect that you're eager to see your brother so if you'll come with me, I'll take you back to recovery," the doctor said, smiling for the first time since entering the room.

Dean felt like a deflated balloon. He should be elated but he'd done so much worrying and wasted untold energy on speculation that he was almost faint.

Sam was okay.

Or was he? As he walked into the room he took in the reclining fragile body, so pale even against the while sheets. Dean could see bruises forming on the left side of Sam's face and they were peeping out from under the gown on Sam's chest.

Dean kept his eyes averted from Sam's arm. It was enough to know he'd come through the surgery. He'd deal with the arm later.

He had been running on pure adrenaline for the last eight hours, ever since the hit-and-run, and found his energy seriously lagging. He stifled a yawn, and then another. He almost missed the slight sigh Sam emitted.

But Dean was still tuned into Sam's frequency and gazed at the pale face with rapt attention. His brother crinkled his brow before rolling his head toward Dean on the pillow.

"Sam?" Dean called out quietly. He was rewarded when two hazel eyes blinked open and stared at him blearily.

A nurse appeared at Sam's side and quickly took some vitals, scribbling on a clipboard. She went to a tray table and approached Dean with a cup in her hand. "These are ice chips. Let's start with these first. Then we'll move on to water," she explained, handing him a Styrofoam cup and a spoon.

When Dean turned his attention back to Sam, his brother was staring intently at him. Lines bracketed the sides of Sam's mouth, testament to the pain he was suffering.

Dean dipped the spoon into the cup and ladled some ice chips. He deposited them gently on Sam's full, lower lip. Sam sucked them greedily, relief evident in his eyes.

Sam shifted a little and gasped in pain, his right hand on course to clutch at his injured arm. Dean quickly intervened, clasping Sam's hand in his own. Closing his eyes, Sam swallowed audibly.

The nurse's scrubs made a swishing noise as she entered the room again. She added something to the IV line and immediately the frown on Sam's face began to fade.

Dean hadn't realized how on edge he was until Sam began to relax. He still couldn't make himself look at Sam's arm but he was grateful his brother was resting peacefully.

Stretching his legs out in front of him, Dean tried to relax. He knew his brother's recovery was going to take time so he needed to pace himself.

He tipped his head back and closed his eyes but he didn't relinquish his hold on Sam.

Dean couldn't get the picture of how relaxed and happy Sam had seemed while they were at the bar. He hadn't known this side of Sam, not since before Sam's teenage years, and Dean wondered if that was the Sam at Stanford, the one that Rebecca had so clearly loved and missed.

-0-

Sam had been released from recovery and was now settled in a private room on the orthopedic wing.

A different nurse, Marge, had taken charge of Sam and was now coaxing him into a sitting position.

Dean saw the tightness around his brother's eyes and decided it was time to intervene. "Look, can't you just let him rest for a while? He's clearly not up to this," Dean tried to reason with Marge, who he secretly thought of as "Marge, The Sarge."

"I know you don't want to see your brother in any discomfort but he needs to get up and move around now. He needs to clear his lungs after being under the anesthesia for so long. You're really not helping, dear. Why don't you step into the hall?" Marge suggested. She said it in a sweet voice but Dean understood the message – shut up or get out of the room.

Dean sighed and stepped back. The staff was doing a good job of controlling Sam's pain and it was amazing that he was awake and able to sit up at this point. He'd even smiled at Dean once or twice. Or tried to anyway--that was what Dean assumed those awkward grimaces in his direction were all about. But he held his body stiffly and his brain was still a little foggy. Dean intended to stay close in case Sam needed something.

Marge fluffed another pillow and deposited it behind Sam's back. She adjusted the immobilizer and other apparatus on Sam's arm so that he would be as comfortable as possible in his current state.

Dean saw Marge tenderly push a stray hair out of Sam's eyes before turning away and heading out the door. "I'll be back every fifteen minutes to check on you, but don't hesitate to activate the call light if you need something before then, okay?" she said, smiling sweetly at Sam before frowning at Dean.

Marge exited the door with one, final look of disapproval, leaving Dean to wonder what he had done wrong. Sam tended to bring out the maternal side in females whereas Dean received either stern warnings (ala Missouri) or come hither looks (hello, Missy).

Finally alone with his brother, Dean perched on the edge of Sam's bed, next to his right leg. He reached out and rested his hand on Sam's leg.

He couldn't help himself. He needed to maintain contact with his brother. He'd come really close to losing him and until that memory faded a little, he planned on sticking to Sam's side.

The Winchesters would never have a completely normal life but maybe they could have more like this evening. Before the Jetta had rammed into his brother. Dean wanted the chance to really get to know Sam again, not just the person he thought his brother was.

Sam shifted and sighed, calling Dean's mind back to the here and now. "Dean, I'm fine. You can stop worrying now," Sam said, quiet resolve in his voice.

Dean quit frowning and looked up at Sam. His brother's eyes weren't clear yet, but he was giving Dean a searching look. At least his color was better and his confusion seemed to be lifting.

"Sam, I'm your older brother, it's my job to worry," Dean replied, softening the statement with a smile. He wished he could tease and be playful, but his heart just wasn't in it.

He was beginning to believe that Sam would be okay, but he'd just about suffered heart failure when he'd seen the car clip Sam. He didn't want to smother Sam so he would try to chill out.

With every moment that Sam was upright and awake, Dean inched a little closer to the hard won serenity he'd found recently. There may have been many mysteries between them, but when push came to shove, they always knew that the other would be there--family feuds, time at college, djinns--they were there when it mattered...they could figure out the rest later.

-0-

Sam didn't know how long he'd been sitting up but he was starting to tire. A cough suddenly burst from his lips, taking both him and Dean by surprise.

"Sorry," he murmured, as Dean held a cup of water with a straw to his lips.

The cool water soothed his parched throat but the tickle lingered. Sam ignored the inconvenience and focused his attention back on Dean.

Dean had looked like crap when Sam had woken up and noticed his surroundings. His big brother worried too much about him. After all, it wasn't Dean's fault he'd stepped into the path of a speeding car.

Sam was doing his best to show Dean he was on the mend. It looked like his over protective brother could do with some rest and he knew Dean wouldn't leave his side until he was sure Sam was okay. He needed to redouble his efforts and prove to Dean he could take care of himself.

His thoughts were interrupted by a deep ache in his chest. The tickle had abated but in its place was a disturbing numbness.

Sam closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

He couldn't draw in enough air.

He could feel his heart pounding, the pulse thumping in his temple, as he struggled in vain to pull oxygen into his lungs.

Sam could hear Dean's voice in the distance but was so caught up in the battle for air he couldn't respond. Eyes still closed, he threw his right hand blindly out and was relieved when he caught Dean's arm.

He reached upward, squeezing Dean's hand. His attempts to breath cancelled out all sounds in the room.

He was suffocating.

-0-

Dean was beginning to relax incrementally. Sam had told him to stop worrying, that he was fine and Sam didn't lie. Well, Sam did lie on occasion but at least he knows Sam well enough to know that his little brother wasn't lying about feeling better. The tension between Dean's shoulder blades began to ease.

Sam had even given him _the look,_ the one where it seemed like his little brother was delving into his soul. It was such a Sammy thing to do that the fluttering in Dean's stomach had faded.

Once "Marge, The Sarge" made an appearance, Dean thought he'd mosey on down to the cafeteria for five minutes and grab some coffee and maybe a sandwich.

Sam coughed which made them both jump. Dean reached over and grabbed the ice water Marge had left on the tray table. He slid the straw between Sam's lips and watched his brother carefully while he took a sip. Sam gave him a look of gratitude as he pulled the straw away. And that solidified Dean's reasons for sticking to Sam's side – his brother needed him.

Dean took his eyes off of Sam for just a moment and glanced at his watch, certain that Marge would come gliding in any moment now. He wondered if Sam could maybe have a cup of coffee. He'd have to ask Marge.

When his eyes returned to Sam, his heart rate kicked into high gear. Something was wrong. Sam's eyes were closed and he seemed to be struggling for air.

"Sammy, can you hear me?" Dean called out, panic making his voice strident.

Sam flung his right hand out, connecting with Dean's arm, and he caught Sam's hand deftly in his own. Sam weakly squeezed his hand.

Sam's lips were parted, his nostrils flared, as he noisily inhaled.

Dean snatched up the call light with his other hand and depressed the button. Dean could barely think. Sam needed help. _Now!_

-0-

Marge entered the room, a smile on her lips, and asked, "What can I do for you, sweetie?" Her smile slid off of her face as she took in the scene before her.

Dean was standing at the head of the bed, his hands at Sam's back, supporting him as he gasped for air. "Something's wrong. He's not breathing right!" Dean snapped, panic clouding his brain.

Sliding back a step, Dean moved farther out of the way but didn't remove his arms from Sam's back as Marge assessed Sam's condition.

Marge took in Sam's cyanotic lips and shortness of breath and sprang into action. "Sam, honey, can you take a deep breath for me?" she asked in a patient, gentle voice.

Dean felt better with the nurse in the room but when Sam didn't comply with Marge's request to take a deep breath, he knew his brother was in bad shape.

Marge frowned before snagging the stethoscope out of her scrub pocket and sticking it under the front of Sam's gown. "Sam, I need you to take a deep breath!" Marge tried to reach Sam with a more commanding voice but the results were the same.

The nurse listened to the breath sounds and apparently not liking what she'd heard, Marge ran into the hallway. "Call a code! Respiratory distress!"

Dean was pushed firmly back away from Sam and instantly mourned the lack of contact with his brother. He heard a commotion in the hallway and realized it was the staff mobilizing to come to Sam's aid.

Marge didn't miss a beat as she put her fingers against Sam's good wrist and began timing his pulse. Next she inflated the blood pressure cuff left on Sam's right arm.

A cart and team of four people spilled into the room.

Marge let out the blood pressure cuff. She then reached out and touched Sam's forehead before turning away to give report to the newly arrived staff.

"He's dyspneac and cyanotic with tachycardia along with an elevated temperature and his blood pressure is dropping," Marge stated. "He's unable to clear the secretions himself."

Her demeanor was professional but Dean noticed a slight crack in her voice. It did nothing to allay his fears.

Marge slid out of the teams' way and gravitated toward Dean while the staff went to work. She skillfully herded him to the other side of the room where their presence would be less noticeable. Dean was no stranger to hospital theatrics and knew by all rights he should have been kicked out of the room. Not that he had any plans on leaving.

His scattered thinking switched tracks as a tall, gangly man wearing a white lab coat moved into position near the head of Sam's bed. "Postoperative atelectasis…we'll need to confirm with an x-ray but first let's clear his air passage. Let's shift him flat. Suction?"

Dean's view of Sam was obscured by the staff crowded into the room. He wanted to bodily remove the people blocking him from seeing Sam but knew they were there to help his brother. Someone gripped his arm and out of the corner of his eye Dean recognized Marge.

"You know we really shouldn't be here."

Dean ignored Marge. They'd have to call security if they wanted him to leave the room. And then they'd better bring their best because Dean had no intentions of leaving his little brother now.

"They think he has atelectasis, a sudden obstruction of the bronchus…they're trying to clear his airway," Marge said, her voice a notch above a whisper. She wasn't any more inclined to leave the room than Dean and he was grateful for her presence. The two of them might have tussled over what was best for his brother but he didn't doubt she had Sam's best interests at heart.

"O2 sats are bottoming out," a woman next to the man wielding a suction device stated.

"Damn, let's intubate him now. We need to see exactly what we're dealing with but this kid doesn't have time for us to figure it out now," the man barked in frustration.

Dean shifted to the side, dragging Marge with him, in an attempt to secure a view of his brother. Sam was flat on his back, mouth held open by the doctor who was inserting some sort of lighted device in his brother's mouth. Dean couldn't tell if Sam was conscious or not. His brother just lay there limply as the staff posed him this way and that.

"He's using a laryngoscope to see where to place the tracheal tube," Marge whispered. She was no longer holding Dean's arm in a death grip. Her whole attention was focused on Sam as was Dean's. "The tube's in…it looks good," Marge announced.

"Okay, we have a patent airway. Let's hook up the portable ventilator and get this kid to x-ray," the doctor announced.

One of the staff released the brakes on Sam's bed and he was wheeled out the door. Dean and Marge flattened themselves against the wall to make room.

Dean had a brief of glimpse of his brother, eyelashes resting against pale cheeks, a tube emerging obscenely from his mouth, wires and tubes connecting haphazardly to poles and machines, as the bed was shuffled out the door.

Feeling light headed, Dean leaned back against the wall. A soft voice and firm hand guided him to a chair, "Put your head down between your legs, honey. That's it. Take a deep breath," Marge encouraged.

The accident had been horrific, the damage to Sam's arm grotesque, but Dean had seen with his own eyes that Sam was rebounding after the surgery. He'd gotten his hopes up, believed that Sam would be okay, and now his brother needed the help of a machine to breathe.

Sam had convinced him that not giving in to the djinn had been the right thing to do. Suddenly he wasn't so sure. In Dean's dream, Sam had been alive and happy with Jess. And safe. Dean had made the decision to come back to _his_ Sam and now he wasn't even sure if Sam would be okay. He never had the chance to make it right with _dream _Sam and now Dean worried he'd lose the opportunity to get to know _his _Sam again.

-0-

Sam heard a swish and a thump that corresponded to the pain exploding in his chest.

_Dean! He had to tell Dean not to give up. His brother was angry after the death of their father but Sam had to find a way to reach him. _

Sam fought the rhythm of his breathing. He needed to get up and find Dean. His brother had a wild gleam in his eye lately and Sam didn't want him to do something stupid. Like throw his life away just to spite the last actions of John Winchester.

He thrashed against the bindings holding him still. A machine was wailing in distress next to him but couldn't force his eyes open.

Hands held him down and then his resistance melted away. He knew that feeling. He'd been drugged.

_No! Dean!_

-0-

Dean had been left cooling his heels down by the nurse's station. The staff looked at him with pity as they swished to and from the counter and he wanted to rail at them. Winchesters didn't need their pity.

No, Winchesters needed to be out there, doing what they do best – fighting evil. Instead the two remaining Winchesters were stuck inside this hospital, one brother fighting for his life as the other fought to hold on to his sanity.

He couldn't go on without his brother. It was as simple as that.

Finally Dean was summoned to the ICU. He tried to prepare himself for what he'd find but reality was worse than his imagination.

Sam was still wired up to all sorts of machines, the most imposing being the ventilator forcing air into and then out of Sam's body.

"We were able to clear the mucous out of Sam's lungs. He's been fighting against the ventilator so he's heavily sedated. Unfortunately he's exhausted himself in the process. As soon as he's built up some strength, we'll be able to wean him off of it. Do you have any questions?" the doctor asked Dean. The same doctor who had intubated Sam ten hours ago.

Dean was at the end of his endurance. He wanted to know if Sam would be okay. If he'd still have the use of his left arm. If he'd stay with Dean. But he couldn't give voice to his questions and merely shook his head no.

Staff floated in and out of the cubicle but Dean didn't pay them any attention. He settled down on Sam's right side, what he thought of as his good side, and watched Sam twitch and flinch.

The doctor had said Sam was heavily sedated so Dean wasn't expecting Sam to wake up.

One moment Sam's eyes were rapidly jumping behind his closed lids, and the next they had snapped open and were staring in blind panic at Dean.

Mindful of the IV snaking out of the back of his hand, Dean grasped it gently between his own.

"Sam. It's okay. You had a little set back but it's going to be okay," Dean said, stroking Sam's hand in time to the ventilator.

Sam's eyes were cloudy and confused. He moved his head infinitesimally before his lashes dropped back onto ashen cheeks.

Dean was stunned by the depth of Sam's anxiety. Defeat was radiating in waves from his little brother.

"Sam, listen to me. You have to relax. You're wearing yourself out," Dean pleaded, desperate to get through to his sibling.

How could he get to know the adult version of his brother if Sam quit fighting? Sam had managed to pull Dean back from the brink when the djinn had smashed his resolve. Dean needed to find a way to return the favor.

Sam continued to buck and jerk and Dean couldn't watch anymore. "Sam! Simmer down!" Dean said, imitating John Winchester's brusque military cadence.

His brother's eyes fluttered open and he looked at Dean, really looked at him. Dean smoothed the damp hair back from Sam's forehead, the gesture at odds with his harsh directive.

Sam sunk deeper into his pillow, his eyes open just a skosh, and lightly returned pressure with his right hand.

Dean lowered his head for a moment, resting it on Sam's bed. He couldn't take more much of this roller coaster ride.

Sam was sick. So bad off he could die. And Dean was helpless to save him. He knew his little brother wouldn't give up on him but the longer he sat there, the more he worried.

His little brother couldn't die. Not now. Not ever. There was still so much Dean didn't know about his brother. Sure, he knew the basics, but there was still so much of _Sam_ that was a mystery. Like how his brother kept his optimism in the face of all of the bizarre shit they faced. He was wandering into that _touchy-feely _territory now. Sam would get a kick out of that. He wanted Sam to wake up. To just…breathe.

-0-

It felt like something, or someone, was sitting on his chest.

Sam summoned the energy to crack his eyes open. There, on his right. Dean.

At least his brother wasn't sitting on him.

No, Dean was sitting right next to him and even with his blurry vision, Sam could see that his brother wasn't doing well. Head tipped back as snores emerged softly from his mouth, stubble on his face, bags under his eyes…Dean looked as though he'd gone on a bender.

And really, that's how Sam felt, too. His head ached, his mouth was dry, his stomach iffy. But Sam knew he hadn't been drinking. Well he had, but that was before he'd been hit by the car.

He remembered sitting up in his hospital bed, trying to convince Dean that he was feeling better, that his brother could quit worrying.

And then Sam couldn't catch his breath.

So much for not worrying his brother.

Dean didn't need to be worrying about him. Not now. His brother needed to take care of himself.

Actually Sam wanted to take care of his brother. Just this once. The djinn had messed with his brother's head, made him doubt himself.

But Sam couldn't even talk. Didn't even have the energy to pick up his head.

He listened to the equipment beeping softly as he felt pressure on his chest.

A ventilator. Hell, he couldn't even breathe for himself. How could he take care of Dean if he couldn't breathe?

-0-

Dean was cautiously optimistic that Sam was on the mend this time. He'd been successfully weaned off of the ventilator and the nurses were talking about moving him back to the orthopedic wing.

But Dean had been down this road before and was afraid to get his hopes up too high.

Sam was currently propped up on pillows, his damaged arm resting on some sort of shelf, and he could barely hold his eyes open. When his eyes did manage to stay open, his brother was spacey and lethargic which didn't inspire confidence.

Dean kept up a steady flow of conversation but so far he hadn't elicited a response out of his brother. He tended to focus his attention on Sam's eyes because his little brother looked like hell. He'd lost weight he could ill afford to lose and his skin hung on him.

He wanted nothing more than to grab Sammy up and run for the hills. In fact, as soon as Sam was discharged from ICU, Dean thought he just might try it. He could take better care of his brother than these strangers.

He was shaken out of his reverie when Sam whispered his name. "Dean, you can't give up,"

Sam's voice was husky from disuse and the tube that had resided in his throat for too long. But he sounded lucid.

Dean stood up and perched on Sam's bed.

Maybe Sam's eyes were a little clearer.

And his color was better.

"I wasn't planning on it," Dean responded.

It was a lie. When Sam had been on the ventilator, Dean had found himself wishing for the djinn's alternate world. A place where Sam was healthy and safe.

But Sam was made of sterner stuff and wasn't going to allow Dean to slide back into depression.

His little brother massaged his left shoulder gingerly. It was the first spontaneous movement Sam had made in a day and Dean found himself pleased at the turn of events.

"Do you think we could get out of here soon?" Sam asked, his voice plaintive.

Dean wanted nothing more than to comply with Sam's request but he didn't want a repeat performance of Sam's stunning respiratory crash. After all, his duty as Sam's older brother was to protect him.

"Soon," Dean agreed. He didn't want to crush the small spark in Sam. And as much as he wanted to spirit his baby brother away and take care of him, he thought Sam could use a few days of Marge therapy.

"Hey, did you get my jacket?" Sam asked. He was far more lucid than Dean had given him credit for.

Dean hadn't given a single thought to the beige jacket which was Sam's constant companion. "Um, actually, no. I've been a bit busy," Dean replied.

Sam look crushed. "Dude, that's my lucky jacket," Sam pouted.

"Lucky jacket?! That jacket nearly cost you your life," Dean responded, mystified by his little brother. Maybe Sam wasn't quite as with it as he thought.

A slow smile spread across Sam's face, a dimple winking for a moment. "I'm still alive, so yeah, it's lucky to me," Sam answered.

Dean did a double take before laughter burst from his lips. It felt good to laugh. He knew it was from relief, but it felt good nonetheless.

He may never completely understand his little brother, but Dean knew Sam loved him. His little brother had stood by him patiently while he'd grieved the death of John Winchester. He wouldn't let Dean lose hope when the djinn had made him doubt reality. And Sam had kept him on the right path in between those two events, even when he felt like throwing in the towel.

Now it was Dean's chance to return the favor. Sam's arm would need daily exercise and it would be painful. Dean would make sure that he took care of the arm as well as the rest of his body. Both brothers tended to push themselves but Sam seemed more fragile, more vulnerable. Dean would make sure he slowed down and would nurse him back to health. He couldn't lose Sam. Not now that they were back together, fighting evil.

They were more than a hunting team…they were brothers. And brothers looked after each other.

But it was more than that. Maybe he could take this time to get to know his brother better. Not Sammy, the chubby kid who was Dean's constant shadow. Not dour Sam, the teenager who had tried to out stubborn and out argue John Winchester. But the Sam who had spent four years away from his family and then weathered untold amounts of grief while still maintaining there was good in the world. That it was all worth it.

Someone who spent a night off in a bar, keeping his older brother company. Tapping his foot to music while getting buzzed. Smiling at strangers. Smiling at Dean.

That was who Dean wanted to spend some time with. Not just a hunting partner. Not just a brother. But his friend.

Finis

A/N: Much thanks to the incomparable Faye Dartmouth. I think I wrote this as a distraction when she was in the midst of moving into a new house. Now she's got other, more important things going on in her life and I thought this might be a good time to drag this one out again. A celebration of sorts. Of course I begged her to do the beta. So much for the story being a "free" gift.

Also thanks to the ultra creative Gidgetgal9 who gave the fic a final once over and helped with title and summary duties.

I wouldn't get anything written without the help of these two very talented ladies.

Thanks for reading!


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